Anchors
by sandyfin
Summary: Eddie Janko never deviated from the lucrative career path her parents laid out for her - she never became a cop. But that doesn't prevent the undeniable attraction that blooms after a couple of chance meetings with a certain NYPD police officer who can't get her out of his head. au.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: this is a quick AU story which will include adult content. happy birthday areyouserial!_

* * *

Eddie Janko braces herself as she rushes onto the street, her tailored jacket providing little protection against the blustery wind that bites through the weak January sunshine. It just serves to irritate her more after an unnecessary trip to a client's office to correct what turned out to be a clerical error. What should've taken ten minutes to sort out took twice that thanks to the client's useless assistant, who was responsible for the mixup in the first place, and she's ready to sink into her couch with some takeout alfredo and a glass of wine. Or two.

Unfortunately she's got another three hours of work ahead of her before she'll be able to get out of the office. Minimum.

Clutching her jacket closed with one hand, she reaches the other into her purse in search of her phone. By the time she makes the twenty minute drive back to her office, her assistant can have an Italian panini on her desk, hot and fresh from the deli up the block—

"Hey! Come on!"

The NYPD officer admiring her car looks up while his partner, who's writing a ticket, barely regards her.

"Seriously? I'm right here. Put that away."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he says, "but you can't park here." He nods at the **No Parking Here To Corner** sign that stands even with the side mirror of Eddie's Porsche before returning his attention to the pad in his hand.

Exasperated, Eddie groans loudly as she produces her keys. "I was here for five minutes!"

"You were still here."

She opens her mouth to argue once more but something about the officer's hard-set jaw tells her that it will be futile. Narrowing her eyes, she catches sight of his nameplate and then relaxes her hunched shoulders despite the cold. "Officer Reagan — please. I'm right here. Can't you just let me drive away, pretend this never happened?"

He looks up at her but her softer tone doesn't abate the sharpness she notes in his clouded green eyes. "I'm sorry, ma'am…"

"What if I back up a couple feet?"

"Should've thought of that when you parked the first time."

"I couldn't. There was a car there when I got here. Please, Officer." She's not begging — Eddie Janko doesn't beg — but that crease on the officer's forehead just beneath his hat makes her think that a little kindness will go a long way. "I know you're just doing your job, but what good does it do anybody to write me a ticket right now? I'll drive away, you guys can get out of the cold back to your car…"

"You broke the law," he points out without looking up.

" _Half_ of my car is over the line," Eddie emphasizes. "So...does that mean you'll just write me _half_ a parking ticket?"

Finally that forehead crease fades, melting into a small hint of a lopsided smile as he meets her eyes. "We round up, sorry."

Eddie steps past him and stretches her arms to measure the amount of her car that surpasses the sign before she shuffles sideways, arms still extended to demonstrate that more than half of the car is behind the line.

"But — if it's _less_ than half you can round down right? Because by my calculation this is about 43 percent..."

Officer Reagan's jaw flaps open and shut once before a small chuckle escapes him. "Okay, alright, alright," he offers, lifting his hands in surrender. "Sixty-seven percent of your car is parked legally. Forget the ticket."

"Fifty-seven percent, actually — but you know. Minor details," Eddie says. "Anyway. Thank you so much, Officers. I hope you have a great day. Stay safe out there."

Before either cop has a chance to react, Eddie drops smoothly into the driver's seat and shuts the door behind her. Bringing her fingers up near her shoulder in a cute wiggly wave, she flashes Officer Reagan one more sparkling grin before she shifts into gear and speeds away.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: To the guest who reported this story, my tumblr username is cards-onthetable. I'm just republishing my own work here - no plagiarism issues!_

* * *

"I hate these things. What do they think's gonna happen? Someone's gonna storm the stage—?"

"You never know. There are some important people here," Jamie tells his partner.

"They could at least come up with food that looks like food," Officer Zach Russell continues, ignoring him. "What is this shit?"

"It's puff pastry."

"They're eating filets in there. Filets! And all they can do is give us leftover pie crust."

"It's ten degrees outside," Jamie reminds him.

"There are calls to respond to outside."

Jamie rolls his eyes and exhales his amusement at his second-year partner who still hasn't learned to appreciate a nice quiet assignment. "But it doesn't hurt to breathe in here. There'll be perps to chase tomorrow."

"Better be," Russell mutters, picking apart a bite-sized puff pastry to investigate the filling inside. "Because this shit—"

He's cut off when the door to the hotel ballroom bursts open and a tall bearded man in a dark suit stalks past them down the hall. He's trailed by a woman in a black and shimmering gold dress that rustles around her knees as she hurries behind him.

Raising a curious eyebrow at Jamie, Russell quits playing with his food and straightens up to listen as their hushed voices carry back around the corner. They don't catch much other than a hissed accusation — " _You can't handle that I'm good at what I do! You always pull shit like —_ " — before the voices abruptly disappear.

"See?" Jamie says. "Things can happen."

"Two rich people yelling at each other. Exciting."

"You never know, could turn into a full-on domestic…" Jamie pushes off the wall where they've been leaning to see where the couple might have gone.

He's only vaguely aware of Russell's skeptical muttering behind him as he rounds the corner, scanning the hall while he listens for more voices. But all is quiet for a moment until a door in the far corner swings open and the bearded man comes out, long purposeful strides taking him towards the hotel lobby. He moves quickly, disappearing from sight as the woman exits from the same door. She glances in the direction of her counterpart — her boyfriend, Jamie assumes — but crosses the hallway to a side door to the ballroom instead of following him.

Jamie frowns, noting that the door in the offset corner leads to the men's room. "Well, not sure what that's about," he murmurs to Russell.

"Let's go find that lady," Russell says.

"And do what? Doesn't look like he assaulted her in there."

"Ask her what she's doing in the men's room!"

"Yeah, not really our problem. Let's just stay here and keep an eye out in case the gentleman comes back. _Him_ we can check in with, make sure he's not going to do anything stupid."

Russell groans dramatically towards the ceiling. "This is so _boring_! I need something to do."

"Let's hope that guy doesn't fill your request," Jamie says. "Come on, look alive."

Taking a post along the wall they keep watch, even though there isn't much to watch for. The disgruntled guest doesn't return to this hallway and there's no other way into the ballroom, so that drama hasn't amounted to anything. It's a boring twenty minutes until two other officers send them for a break.

"Keep an eye out," Jamie warns them. "Tall gentleman, six-one or so, short blond hair, full trimmed beard — he was having a pretty heated argument with a woman that ended in the men's room before he stormed off that way. Woman went back inside, but you know, just watch in case he shows back up."

"Almost hope he does," the younger of the two mutters. "Give us a reason to be here."

"You sound like Russell here," Jamie says.

"The medium-rare sirloin they got back there wasn't enough to make him happy," the older partner says, tipping his head in the direction of the staging room the hotel has given the officers for the evening.

"There _is_ steak for us?" Russell verifies.

"Yeah, they got a coupla buffet warmers back there, steak and mashed potatoes and somethin' else. Go on, we're good here for a bit."

Russell makes a beeline for the staging room as Jamie ducks into the restroom for a moment and then follows, stopping at the bar on his way.

"Can I get something for you?"

"Bourbon and Coke, minus the bourbon," Jamie tells the bartender, who chuckles as he fills a glass with ice.

"Not up for a wild night?"

"Nah, in the uniform a slow night's a good night. Try to keep the wild ones few and far between."

"Better watch out when they open up the dance floor then," the bartender says. "I've had a lot of traffic tonight."

Jamie laughs genially but the movement of a ballroom door opening across the foyer draws his gaze. The woman who emerges crosses right away to the bar and, ignoring Jamie, says, "Double vodka on the rocks with a lime. Please."

He didn't see her face a few minutes ago but the unforgettable dress identifies her as the bearded man's restroom companion.

"Everything alright, ma'am?" Jamie asks. "I noticed you with a gentleman earlier—"

"He's no gentleman," the woman scoffs as she turns to face him. "But everything's fine — hey!"

Jamie lets a small laugh escape through an awkward smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes — she obviously recognizes him and now that he looks at her face, she seems vaguely familiar too. Maybe. No, definitely, he's seen her before. But he can't place her and that makes him uncomfortable. He's never supposed to forget a face.

"You're the one who can't do basic math!" She exclaims.

"I uh…"

"You were gonna write me a ticket for less than half my car being over the line. Like a month ago. Remember?"

"Right! Right, yeah, of course. I remember."

"So you can be talked out of tickets like it's nothing — I mean I didn't even have to try that hard — and here you are drinking on the job? That what they mean by New York's finest?"

Jamie laughs and holds up his glass. "Just Coke," he assures her. "And I only let people off for tickets if they've got a good argument. Yours was that solid, I guess."

"I was barely past the sign! It was only fair."

The hard, determined look she had on her face when she approached the bar has relaxed into an easy smile and now Jamie remembers exactly who she is. "I don't think I ever caught your name. I'm Jamie Reagan."

"Eddie," she offers, and Jamie feels his brow furrow for a moment. "Nice to meet you now that you're not trying to ruin my day."

Jamie raises the hand that isn't occupied by his soda, a show of innocence. "Just doing my job. Eddie."

"Keeping the city safe, one parking ticket at a time?"

"Something like that," he chuckles.

"As long as _you_ feel like you're making a difference," she teases, her shimmery eyes negating her patronizing tone.

Jamie can't help the smirk that emerges as he shakes his head at her. "Well, here," he says, offering her one of the courtesy cards he always carries in his wallet. "If anyone ever gives you more trouble for parking forty-three percent past the line, use this."

"Does it only work for parking-related trouble?"

"Speeding tickets, too," he replies. "So if you ever get a little too excited in that Boxster of yours…"

"Ha! Never."

"Beyond that though, you'd have to know somebody with a bigger hook than me."

Eddie flips the card between her fingers. "And here I thought you'd be good for something. Damn."

"Hey, nobody said _I'm_ not good for anything. It's just the name on the card that doesn't pull much weight. But if you ever need anything from me personally…"

"Yeah? What would I need from you personally?"

Jamie lets out all the air he's been holding in his chest. She's relentless. "Not math help, I hope. But anything else."

"Oh, you're pretty versatile then."

"You could say."

Eddie smirks at him, one eyebrow cocked over the rim of her glass as she takes another sip. "You know — actually, there might be something."


	3. Chapter 3

He shouldn't be here.

He knows that. And he wouldn't be here if her request wasn't valid. But he witnessed the bearded man's unsettling demeanor earlier, and Eddie's concern that he might not clear out of their hotel room seemed warranted. Jamie's a cop — sure, of course he could take a look around to make sure the guy's really gone before Eddie goes to the front desk to reset her key card.

He came upstairs. He checked the bathroom and the closet. He verified that the scorned lover made his exit and didn't leave any belongings that might bring him back later. He said something about _there we go, your boyfriend's definitely gone_ and she admonished his use of the word _boyfriend_ and—

And now he's backed against the hotel room door with a near-stranger's tongue down his throat.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't let this happen. But he isn't stopping her.

Jamie's hands grip her waist. Hers restlessly roam over his chest, his shoulders, and her fingers close in the short hair at the nape of his neck as she tugs and releases his bottom lip. The sensation prompts an unrestrained groan from him and he feels himself relax into the demanding pressure of her mouth, the solid weight of her body—

She tugs at his tie and his mind re-engages. With a sharp inhale he tips his mouth away. He shouldn't be here.

"I — we should — I need to—" he stammers.

"You need to what?" Her words are just hot air against the underside of his jaw before she finds that sensitive pulse there.

He pushes against her waist. "I'm on duty, I — my break's only—"

Finally she eases herself off his chest, backing up half a step, and Jamie can see the challenge in her eyes. "Your break's only what?"

"Like fifteen more minutes—"

"And I have to be onstage downstairs in ten."

It's not the first time Jamie has crossed a line with a woman he met through the job but it's never escalated like this. Eddie has this irresistible pull, this energy about her that he can't figure out, and he can't look away. As she tows him away from the door he couldn't stop her even if he wanted to — not that he wants to.

Her lips crash into his once again as they stumble into the room. His hands slide lower, from the narrow of her dress where the fitted black bodice meets the flared gold skirt, over the swell of her ass where he tugs her hips against his growing arousal. The moan she lets out when he does nearly ruins him.

Eddie pulls at his tie again and this time he lets her. He chases her tongue out of his mouth as his fingers splay over the angle of her jaw, then back into her hair, which is down to her shoulders in loose, heavily sprayed curls.

Her palm leaves the front of his pants — he practically whines at the loss — and she grabs his wrist to pull his hand from her hair. "No," she tells him, breathless. "You can't mess me up."

"I _will_ mess you up," he murmurs against her neck.

She laughs at him, kisses his lips once more and frees herself, pivoting to reach into the cosmetic bag open on the dresser. "Just take off that damn belt and get on the bed, chief."

He's never gotten rid of his vest and utility belt so fast in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

_Adult content ahead..._

* * *

Eddie tosses Jamie a condom from her bag and abandons her black heels while he situates himself.

None of this is for him. She and Barry planned to finish their celebration up here before Barry pulled his usual alpha male bullshit, unable to handle the shadows on the sideline of Eddie's spotlight. Eddie's not bothered, though. Actually she hopes that her on again, off again thing with that bearded asshole is off for good.

This cop is hotter than Barry anyway.

Gathering the heavy fabric of her skirt, she plants one knee on either side of Jamie's lap and finds his needy mouth again. But she teases, pulls away and shoves against the strong curve of his shoulder until he falls back onto the crisp white duvet.

God, his mouth is delicious and his hands hitched behind her knees drive her crazy and she can't remember the last time she wanted someone this badly. She fumbles a second under her huge fucking dress before her fist closes around his cock and she eases herself down on him.

She's not normally so quiet but she's so focused that the only noise that escapes her is her heavy, whimpering breath as she begins to move. She flattens her palms on his chest beneath his skewed undershirt and finds a rhythm almost as fast as her desperate pulse.

He watches her move for a moment before he reaches beneath her skirt and grips her ass, thrusting upwards to fill her completely. She angles her hips forward and her clit presses against the base of his cock with every stroke and her breath comes in panting gasps, she's getting close, right there, just—

He tenses beneath her, fingers digging into her thighs strong enough to leave bruises as he calls out, a choked grunting sound from deep in his chest. And then his muscles go slack and his hands fall away and just like that, it's over.

Oh.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to catch his breath. Eddie slides off him and climbs off the end of the bed. Damn.

Jamie pushes himself up on his elbows when he feels her get up. "Fuck, Eddie" he starts, drawing her attention before she can duck away to the privacy of the bathroom. "That was—"

She lets out a nervous laugh as she collects her things from the floor. "Yeah."

"Should we—"

"I have to get back."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've just got a couple minutes…"

She's already back in her heels and she hurries into the bathroom with a makeup wipe and MAC Matte bullet to fix her tingling, swollen lips. A quick survey assures her she looks fine once she straightens her dress and smooths down her hair. But that lack of release courses through her whole body, leaving a pounding rush in her ears and an empty ache in her core. Her legs feel shaky underneath her and her stomach stirs with an uncomfortable tension she can't identify.

She barely manages a quick _make sure the door locks when you leave_ when she rushes out to the elevator.

What the hell was that? She should know better.

She curses to herself and draws in a huge cleansing breath before she heads back to the ballroom.


	5. Chapter 5

"Reagan! Where the hell have you been?" Russell demands. "You've got to get some of this steak, oh my god, it's making this shitty assignment worth it."

"That good, huh?" Jamie replies. "You say the same thing about day-old turkey sandwiches from that bodega on 9th."

"Shut up, this is the real deal."

Helping himself to a plate, Jamie moves along the stainless buffet dishes. Russell starts talking again, going on about the best filet he ever had if Jamie hears him right — but he's not really listening. He's got a whole lot else to think about right now.

He's never been a one night stand kind of guy. Yet here he is, on the job, his whole body heavy and tired after the best orgasm he's had in a long time. And he doesn't even know Eddie's last name.

After she left her hotel room, he took a couple minutes to put himself back together. He composed himself and made sure he looked professional again before he returned to the ballroom corridor. But as he headed for the staging room the venue had set aside for the four cops on duty, he caught a glimpse of the stage through an open set of double doors. Eddie stood with three others next to the podium, smiling at the speaker's recognition, and the sight of her stirred a reaction in his core he didn't expect.

He still feels sort of unfocused, uneasy. Distracted. Is this how these things usually happen? They fucked and now they're strangers again? He doesn't like that. The urge to talk to her — to break the unspoken code of seen-and-not-heard by the clientele at these ritzy security detail assignments — nearly overwhelms him. He has no idea what he'd say but to exist here, this close to her yet so far apart, feels like a tragedy.

"What are you two doing in here?" The senior officer's voice breaks through Jamie's distraction. "Let's go, get back out there and do your job."

Russell grumbles and takes his time cutting another piece of sirloin. "What job? We got no reason to be here, Mike."

"Yeah we do, it's called they wanted a security detail on scene, so go get your ass on scene. Make a round in the lobby. And wipe your damn mouth, Russell, you're messier than my granddaughter."

Jamie stretches to set his plate on the folding table before he slowly gets up. "You heard him Rus, let's go."

"I hope that tall guy comes back and does something stupid," Russell complains. "I'm so bored."

The sentiment prompts an unexpected sting behind Jamie's eyes as the officers meander towards the main hotel lobby. "Cut it out, would you?" He snaps, more sharply than he needs to. "I'm going to start keeping a tab. Every time you complain, you owe me another drink tomorrow after tour."

"Tomorrow after tour? Fuck that, I'm getting shitfaced as soon as this thing's over. I deserve it."

"That's two," Jamie says. "Please, continue."

"You wish."

They emerge at the far end of the lobby and make a wide, casual circle but there's nothing suspicious about any of the people waiting around in the clusters of sleek modern furniture. Jamie's not really engaged, barely paying attention so he almost misses the glint of gold jewelry abandoned against the side of an empty black chair.

"Hold up," he tells Russell as he crouches to pick it up.

"Damn, somebody's definitely looking for that," Russell notes. "It's a Tag Heuer — a five thousand dollar watch."

"It's a what? What do you know about watches?"

"I got expensive taste," Russell shrugs, reaching for it. "Lemme see."

Ignoring him, Jamie turns the delicate piece over in his hands. Oh god. Half an hour ago this thing was right in front of his face, on her hand planted flat on his chest while she rode him on her king-sized bed.

This is Eddie's watch.

"We should take it back to the house, see if it was reported stolen," Russell is saying somewhere in Jamie's peripheral. He helps himself to the watch since Jamie hasn't handed it over. "It's engraved."

"No, it's not stolen. Probably just dropped by accident. What's it say?" He takes it back and studies the fine feminine monogram on the back of the watchface — EJM, the middle J larger and loopier than the other letters.

"Who drops a bajillion dollar watch by accident?"

"I'll just give it to the concierge," Jamie announces.

"They don't deserve this watch," Russell continues. "That's like, worse than forgetting your kid somewhere."

"We're not taking it to the precinct. Say your goodbyes, man."

Russell lets out an irritated groan and turns to walk away. "You're a damn party pooper, Reagan. I need to take a leak."

Jamie starts in the opposite direction, towards the granite desk along the east wall. He'll tell the employee that the watch belongs to the guest in room 1042 and that's all he needs to do.

But what if he doesn't?

He'll give the watch back to Eddie himself. If he doesn't catch her again tonight, it shouldn't be hard to find her corporate contact information. Either way, it means he sees her again..

It doesn't take much to convince himself.

He angles his steps away from the desk to make another sweeping lap, casually slipping the watch into his pocket as he does.


	6. Chapter 6

While she was onstage Eddie felt like she was under a microscope in this room full of three hundred strangers. The president of the company spent way too long listing all of the accomplishments that led to Eddie's upcoming promotion, and her department was called second, before the room got bored and stopped paying attention. But as the top employees in the remaining departments are recognized, she's glad that all she has left to do tonight is sit here and drink expensive Cabernet.

As much as she thrives in the spotlight, she couldn't wait to return to the dark. An unfamiliar weight has settled in her stomach and she still hasn't recovered from that frantic failure of a hookup an hour ago. She wants to drink more and fall asleep alone and wake up in the morning as if it was nothing.

It was definitely nothing. A misguided attempt to kill her anger towards Barry, that's it.

Suddenly she really likes the idea of staying single for a while. She can take some time to settle into her new role, solidify her presence as a rising industry leader, and treat herself. She could use some me time. She's always wanted to try kickboxing.

"Did he really take off? Emily says he's gone, like, maybe for good this time," says Riley, one of Eddie's closest work friends.

Eddie realizes the last department presentation has ended. The board executives are clearing off the low stage. "He took off," she confirms. "I hope it's for good. I'm so done with him."

"I know. You look so stressed, I'm sorry he ruined the night," Riley says. "What did he say?"

"Same old thing," Eddie shrugs. "Shonda Miller from the board of directors came over to talk to me and Barry starts talking shit, and he got pissed when I got on his case. Like he thinks it's okay to belittle me in front of a board member, because he always has to compensate for his tiny fucking penis—"

Riley bursts out laughing and Eddie can't help cracking a smile. "That explains the Corvette!" Riley exclaims. "Totally an SDS car."

Eddie scoffs at their abbreviation for _small dick syndrome_. "Riley. Girl. You know that car isn't even his, right? He can't afford that shit. His dad has money and it's his car and Barry just drives it down from Mt. Vernon every so often. It's pathetic. But god, he always has to one-up everyone, and I've got a nice car so…"

"So he takes his dad's midlife crisis prize for a ride? Oh, my god, you can't ever get back with him, I don't care what he says when he comes crawling back."

"I don't plan on it," Eddie promises, finishing off her glass of wine. "Trust me. I feel like I dodged a bullet. He can stay the fuck away from me."

"He better. If he comes back you can't let him pull his old bullshit."

"He was fucking pissed tonight. The bullshit is gone and he's just an asshole."

"You should call the cops, seriously," Riley says. "If he shows up again. He could like, do something bad. Like he's got a temper."

"I actually—" Eddie chokes on the words but she recovers. "I asked a cop to go up and make sure he cleared out of our hotel room just now, you know, in case he was up there waiting for me or something. He was… I've never seen him as angry as he was when he left."

"Oh that's where you were! I was wondering. It's not like you to peace out for half of the main course."

"Yeah," Eddie manages. "I went to get another drink and the cop asked if I was okay and…"

"That's good, if I were you I'd be scared to go back to the room alone. Did you change your key?"

"No, I didn't have time. But I will."

Riley stands up a little too fast and she grabs onto the back of her chair and Eddie's arm to regain her balance. "Come on, let's do it right now. You don't want him getting back into your room."

"I don't think he'll come back now that he's actually left…"

"Still." Riley tugs Eddie's arm until Eddie gets to her feet, and they head out of the ballroom just as an overplayed pop song plays to open up the dance floor.

Eddie is a bit apprehensive and Riley isn't drunk enough to miss the way she looks over her shoulder as they move. But Riley thinks it's Barry that Eddie's nervous to see, and she links her arm through Eddie's and uselessly reassures her that Barry's gone.

But Eddie knows that. It's Officer Jamie Reagan that she wants to avoid. She's not looking for more random hookups, especially with a guy who turned out to be so… disappointing. Her pathetic attempt to literally fuck her feelings away didn't work and she doesn't need to see Jamie again to remind her. She's doing just fine on her own.


	7. Chapter 7

Jamie didn't see Eddie again that night, except maybe a glimpse of her dress as she rounded the corner to the elevators with another woman.

He knows the name of her company, but that doesn't help him very much when all he knows about her is probably a nickname. Searching "Eddie" gets him nowhere within the company site, and there's no record of the ticket he didn't write her a month ago to remind him of any other details. The interaction seemed so insignificant to him at the time that his perfect memory is useless.

The watch sits on his dresser for a week as he resorts to individually clicking through the staff webpages of each department within her company, hoping he'll see a picture, or a name that could be shortened to Eddie. She works for a huge consulting firm with a million departments that work in a million industries and Jamie makes no progress, even though he spends all his free time clicking through employee rosters.

He's about ready to give up, maybe drop off that watch at the company headquarters and let them handle it when he finds her. There she is, smiling widely against a blue school-photo background under the corporate finance and investment page.

 _Edit Janko, MBA_

 _Executive director, corporate financial services_

A contact number and email address are listed beneath her title.

Reflexively he reaches for his phone, but he stops himself. He second-guesses. It's been eight days. By Monday morning, when someone will be around to answer her business phone, it'll be ten. It would be one thing to contact her two days later, _hey, I found your watch_ — but sitting on it for this long, even though he hasn't actually been sitting, makes him doubt whether it's a good idea to call. _Hey, I found your watch, and it only took me this long to call because it took me this long to find you_. That doesn't really sound good either.

But he wants to see her again.

But he doesn't know if he should. What they did, what he did, was so inappropriate. Definitely grounds for suspension or more serious disciplinary action. Taking her watch, even with the intent to return it, only compounds his guilt. He's lucky that Eddie apparently hasn't called the precinct to report it — he's sure he'd know by now if she had — and maybe it's better to anonymously return the watch and let this whole thing fade away until it becomes a crazy story he'll tell someday when he's old and he's had one too many. _Let me tell you about the time I tried to do a woman a simple favor and five minutes later we had sex in her hotel room!_

But he wants to see her again.

Not just because of the sex, even though it was fucking amazing. But because she had this addicting quality about her, radiating from her skin, weaving its way into his DNA until he has to try way too hard to think about anyone else.

Jamie picks up his cell phone. And he saves her office number.


	8. Chapter 8

"Eddie, you've got a call on line one."

"Is it the lawyer from that publishing company?"

"No, it's a police officer. Says he's got a personal property matter to discuss with you."

"A police officer?" Eddie echoes. "Alright — uh, send 'em through."

She waits for the telltale click before she answers, "Hello, this is Eddie Janko."

"Eddie! Hi. It's Jamie Reagan."

She swallows an annoyed groan.

"Officer Reagan. To what do I owe this surprise?"

"I have a gold watch that I've been holding since last weekend at your company's banquet, and I believe it might be yours."

Eddie feels her eyes widen. "You do? I asked the hotel when I realized I didn't have it but they never saw it. I thought it was gone."

"Ah, yes. So if you can describe the watch to me, I'll be happy to meet you to return it."

"It's monogrammed," Eddie tells him. "On the back of the face, my initials, EMJ."

"EMJ?" Jamie repeats. "In that order?"

"No, the J's in the middle, haven't you seen a styled monogram before?"

"Is that why that is? You know, my mom had personalized hand towels when I was a kid and they had the R in the middle too but I never understood that."

Eddie laughs in spite of herself. "That's just how it is. Like your last initial is the most important, I don't know. It goes in the center."

"Well that doesn't make any sense to me, but I'll allow it."

"You'll _allow_ it?" Eddie smirks. "How gracious of you."

His easy chuckle floats through the phone and she feels that weight in her chest start to lift. "That's me."

"So my watch," she reminds him. "Can you bring it by my office?"

"Not today, I'm in the middle of a tour and I'm pretty booked up. But I was thinking, maybe tomorrow? We can meet up whenever you're free, grab a drink. I'll come to you."

"Oh, you'll come to me? Why don't you just _come to me_ and give me my watch back, big shot?"

"Hey, without me your watch could've been gone. Sold off to some drug lord in the South Bronx by now."

"What's that got to do with meeting you for a drink?"

"Honestly nothing, but my partner would probably say something he'll regret if we show up to give it back during work hours, so I'd rather just leave him out of it."

"Your partner, the one who drooled all over my car that day you tried to give me a ticket?"

"That's the one. He's a big fan of your watch too."

"Oh god. Sounds like he might do something stupid like track me down at work and ask me to grab a drink sometime."

"I wouldn't blame him," Jamie says. "But yeah I'd like to just avoid that risk."

Eddie giggles and rolls her eyes. "Okay sure, I'll meet you for a drink. Tomorrow at Bar 48 at like, seven."

"Seven. Sounds good, I'll see you then."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm not looking for a relationship, you know," Eddie announces. "So whatever this is we're doing—"

"Who said we're doing anything?" Jamie says. He presses one more round into the magazine he's holding and slides it into place. "I'm just here for target practice."

"I'm just saying. We've hung out a lot over the last few weeks and I don't want you to get any wrong ideas. This is all casual."

"Here's an idea. Pick up your weapon and show me what you've got."

She scowls at him as he backs out of her booth to stand behind the red safety line. Turning, she picks up the M&P on the table in front of her and adjusts her hands as she trains her eye on the target ten yards away.

"Whoa, hey," Jamie calls out. "Eddie! Wait."

Keeping the pistol pointed downrange, she lowers it a bit and glances over her shoulder. "Jamie! I've got a gun in my hand."

"Yeah, yeah, but your stance is all wrong." He approaches and rests one hand on her waist while he kicks his tennis shoe between her ankles. "Shoulder width apart, right foot back half a step. There you go." He brings his other hand to her shoulder, tapping there a couple times before digging his thumb along the edge of her shoulder blade. "And relax, you're all tense up here. Let your shoulders fall a little. I thought you said you've done this before."

"Yeah, rifles and shotguns, not this."

"Rifles and shotguns?"

"Marksmanship. Summer camp," she explains. "Move, would you?"

Jamie backs away once more and watches her roll her shoulders a couple of times. She's still a bit tight in her upper body but the compact handgun she's shooting doesn't have much bite to it, so she's strong and stable as she unloads 10 rounds into the target paper five yards away.

"Not bad," Jamie remarks, pulling back one side of his noise protection headphones to rest just behind his ear. "A little wild, but I've seen way worse for someone's first time."

"It's not really my first time!"

"First time with a handgun," he clarifies, laughing.

"Give me a rifle and I'd be perfect."

"Nobody carries a rifle for self defense," he points out.

"Nobody gives out trophies for moving one finger on a semi-auto pistol."

"Yeah they do, if you're a cop," he grins. "Okay, my turn. You reload. Squeeze that notch right there to release the magazine and then stick each round in against the spring, tip forward. Your ears on?"

Eddie nods. In the adjacent booth Jamie pauses to watch her release the magazine, noting that she has to adjust her grip and fiddle with the mechanism a bit, but she's deliberately safe about it — always aware of where her hands are and where the weapon is pointing. He's not used to girls who are comfortable around firearms — he likes it.

She begins to reload while he fires off his rounds into his target. The H&K .40 caliber he's shooting is heftier than his little off-duty M&P Eddie's using but he controls the weapon well, leaving a compact cluster of holes in the center chest of his silhouette target.

"Alright, showoff," Eddie scoffs.

"I'm not showing off! I have to be a good shot. It could seriously be life or death for me at any moment."

"Well yeah, I guess."

"And I'm not even that good, by department standards." He shrugs casually as he moves to reload his magazine.

"What's good by department standards then? One single bullet hole for all ten shots? Ten perfect bullseyes?"

"That's about what it needs to look like if you want to win any medals."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Win a shooting medal."

"No," he says. "I came in second."

"Ohhh-kay," Eddie rolls her eyes. "Let me go again at five but I want you to move your target out to fifteen yards. Or twenty. It's only fair."

She adjusts her stance and fires, her shots hitting a little tighter this time. They all hit within the lines of her target, at least, no extraneous marks in the white space around the outside. With a satisfied nod, she sets the weapon on the shelf at the front of the booth and steps back. "I could get good at this," she decides.

"Yeah, not bad. But you know, if you want to shoot a rifle, they rent models out in the lobby and I can go grab one—"

"Nope, I need to see you shoot at a distance first. No chickening out."

"I'm not chickening out! Just being a gentleman, offering something that might be a little more fun for you."

"Let's see it!" Eddie demands.

With a chuckle Jamie taps the keypad that controls the target distance, and his paper whirrs back another fifteen yards on the ceiling slide. He flicks his eyebrows at Eddie once, smirking at the way she regards him expectantly with a hand on one hip. When he focuses and fires, this time at his target's head, his rounds don't hit quite as neatly as they did at the closer distance. But he slides the target back to the booth for a better look and he can't help his smug laugh as Eddie groans at the still-impressive accuracy.

"God, you're annoying," she calls out as he removes his ear protection.

"Let me go grab a rifle," he decides. "You'll probably show me up, I can't lie."

"Well fuck, I at least have to try."

"Be right back." He crosses behind the other shooting booths, empty in the middle of a weekday afternoon, and heads for the range lobby. There he rents the attendant's recommended rifle — it's free since he's NYPD — and buys enough ammunition to last them a while before he returns to the active range.

"Yes!" Eddie exclaims. "This is my shit right here. Give me that."

She takes the rifle and Jamie stands back, amused, as she checks it out and loads it. She'd peeled the used paper silhouette targets down while Jamie was gone and replaced them with traditional round bullseyes, a large target in the center with a smaller circle tucked into the open space at each corner. Now she programs the mechanical slide to set her target fifteen yards away, and aims with perfect form. She takes her time, several seconds for each shot but the results are perfect — one shot in the center of each small corner circle, and four in a compact square at the center of the large target in the middle.

Jamie lets out a low whistle. "Damn. Look at you."

"I was never second place," she says proudly.

"Clearly not."

"But if you're in the mood to come in second..." She holds out the weapon in her hand.

"Oh god."

"Come on, sharpshooter, show me what you've got!"

"Ugh, alright," he gives in, stepping forward into the booth. "Give me some space."

He hasn't handled a rifle in a long time, his shooting practice always focused on the weapons he carries with him on the job or off-duty. He has to shift a few times until he's comfortable holding the gun, and he spreads four shots across the large bullseye with much less accuracy or precision.

"Oh my god!" Eddie squeals, delighted. "You suck!"

"Hey, the last time I shot a long gun I still had to ask permission to stay out past curfew."

"Excuses, excuses. Maybe I'm just better than you!"

He smiles at her, shaking his head. "Who would've thought?"

"Hey, women can shoot guns."

"You think I don't know that? My sister is the best shot in the family. And the person who beat me out for the first place sharpshooter medal was a woman."

"Wow, sounds like you need to practice some more. Give me this, you go play with your little pistol over there."

She takes the rifle again and Jamie returns to the adjacent both where his pistols wait. Releasing the magazines from both, he begins to reload.

"So if you're not looking for a relationship," he wonders, "then what are you looking for?"

"Who says I have to be looking for anything?"

"If you're not looking for anything then what are you doing here?" he counters.

"I'm having fun. Isn't that enough?"

"I guess, yeah, but _fun_ only gets you so far."

"Uh-huh, how far exactly are you trying to get?"

With his free hand, the one that isn't holding a gun, Jamie gestures his innocence. "That's not what I mean!" he laughs. "But you're right when you say we've been spending a lot of time together. This is what, the third time we've hung out in five days?"

Eddie doesn't respond for a moment as she fires off a few more rounds with the rifle.

"But they haven't been like, dates," she finally says. "I mean, do you always take girls on dates to shooting ranges?"

"No, actually, this is a first."

"But it's not a date so…"

"Still the first time a girl's ever wanted to come with me," he says.

"Well look," Eddie says. "I like spending time with you, Jamie. As is. Without any strings or pressure, you know? So I just want to make sure we're on the same page and you're not, like, expecting anything—"

"I'm not expecting anything. I definitely wasn't expecting you to shoot like _that_." He tips his chin at her target.

"So we're on the same page," she concludes as she positions the rifle once again.


End file.
